


Storms

by theclockiscomplete



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, F/M, Fluff, sheer fluff, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:39:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4330680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclockiscomplete/pseuds/theclockiscomplete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the things that might potentially put a Timelord straight to sleep, it had to be something that Clara had good reason to avoid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storms

**Author's Note:**

> Set almost immediately post-Last Christmas because I have A Problem (spoiler alert: the problem is only about 5% that I could not find a good, quick reason for an AU). Mainly cuddlecore because there is currently a thunderstorm and I have nobody to snuggle. Frowny face.

It had to be thunderstorms, Clara thought. All the things in all the galaxies to put a stressed-out Time Lord to sleep, and it was thunderstorms. Well. Thunderstorms and her presence. Separate, she didn't know if either would do much good. Which was why despite everything, she was, however improbably, dressed in her flannel sleep pants and the Doctor’s space jumper, watching him sleep and trying not to flinch every time the room shook white with noise. “Teke V,” the Doctor had said triumphantly as the walls in Clara’s TARDIS room had begun shifting from the gentle rainbow mists of a planet she couldn’t begin to pronounce into dark, swirling clouds and blustering rain. She’d smiled nervously at him, chewed the side of a nail as he climbed into her bed like the universe’s tallest five-year-old, all arms and legs and excited to get to sleep with his family on a stormy night.

She’d waved him away when he patted the pillow next to him, his eyes already drooping. Obligatory joke: "Thanks for offering me _my own pillow._ "  She’d remained sitting, staring out and thinking fleetingly that if she could bottle this atmosphere up somehow, she might make a killing on what passed for the black market when they eventually found Gallifrey. Time Lord knockout drops. But for now, the two of them were exhausted and equally frightened at the prospect of sleep thanks to recent adventures of the face-hugger kind, so they were going all out with this elopement thing and finding comfort from each other. She’d kissed him on the brow before sitting back up and watching the endless rain falling and falling and landing on nothing. There was no ground that she could see, just chunks of what would be floating earth if they’d been on Earth—funny how words that were generally not considered to be contextual lost their footing out in space—and the monoliths were eerie and silent amid the wind and rain.

A particularly sudden crash of thunder made her jump involuntarily, a hand fisting the duvet hard enough that she could almost feel her fingernails through the fabric. She chided herself mentally. All the things she’d seen, the monsters she’d fought, and here she was—practically rubbing elbows with the thing monsters had nightmares about and shaking like a leaf. “Pull it together,” she muttered to herself. But try as she might, she couldn’t stop remembering that long-ago night, when the wind and the rain and the noise and the light became too much, and a huge limb had broken through the roof of the small house like a wayward fist in a schoolground fight, before being sucked away and baring the furious, crackling sky and all the horrors it contained. The storm had soaked seven-year-old Clara instantly and showered her with chalky, mushy debris that had left gray stains in her nightie and her sheets. When her mother had gotten to her, Clara was mute with terror, staring up at the sky and wondering, dimly, if she could see heaven when the sky split open and came for her again…

Another loud crack brought Clara back from her flashback to find herself curled into a tight ball, arms clenched around her knees and face covered in a cold sweat. She was so tired her eyes hurt, but every sense was on high alert and her breathing was shallow. It was a long moment before she realized that one, the Doctor was staring at her, and two, he had been saying her name.

“What? Sorry,” she said, and her voice sounded unnaturally high. Immediately, she sensed the storm receding, the volume lessening, the room’s brightness stabilizing into something that was the visual equivalent of white noise.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The Doctor’s eyes were creased in something a lesser person might have called anger, but Clara could see the concern even in the half-light. It occurred to her, dimly, that the arm he was now propped up on had been in contact with her waist. Touch telepath. He’d seen everything. She raised and lowered a shoulder.

“It never came up,” she said lamely.

“It bloody well did,” he blustered. “Just now.”

“You needed sleep.” Clara tried to sound authoritative, but found that it was exponentially harder when choking back a yawn. The Doctor stared at her for a long moment, and then dropped the elbow he’d been propped up on and extended that arm so that it rested across Clara’s pillow.

“Lie down,” he said.

It didn’t really occur to Clara to resist the other arm that had come to gently disentangle her and guide her so that her head rested in the dip of his shoulder, ear pressed to his ribcage and his chin resting on her hair. Around them, stars began to shine in the walls—not extravagant galaxies and nebulas, but a gentle, warm evening with wind-rustled grass and cheerful crickets against a clear navy sky. A kind of blend of their ideas of peace, then, as she could definitely see stars that light pollution would have rendered invisible on Earth, but the effect was something homey and gave the impression of a camping trip of some kind. This time it was the Doctor who placed his cool, dry lips on her hair, feather-light and hesitant. She tightened her grip on his ribs in response and burrowed closer to him. Already she was half-asleep, lulled by the whisper of summer breezes and the rabble of distant frogs, and as she tumbled headlong into unconsciousness, she heard the gentlest of snores over the double beat of his hearts, and she smiled.


End file.
